Mirror Shards: Shatter
by Aliathe
Summary: Harry Potter finds out what being the Master of Death entails. Apparently he's the only Harry Potter who became the Master of Death, out of all the (nearly) infinite other universes with Harry Potters and Magic, and that's a Very Important Thing. When he stops freaking out, Harry decides this could be kinda fun after all. Meddling throughout the multiverse? He's in.


**Note:**

**-I don't own any of the Harry Potter places, characters, plot, etcetera. This is a purely entertaining piece, not meant for profit.**

**\- / / show thoughts.**

**\- The next 'Mirror Shards'-verse story will be a multi-chapter KHRxHP crossover, with Harry as Skull in an AU. It will not be one of his List stories, it will be vacation/just-for-fun "jump" for him. Being immortal and working forever is not an enjoyable prospect, you know.**

Summary:

_Harry Potter finds out what being the Master of Death entails, after Death informed him that he was the only Fated One who collected the Deathly Hollows_ _**before**_ _defeating Voldemort's last Horcrux. Apparently that means he's the only Harry Potter who became the Master of Death, out of all the (nearly) infinite other universes with Harry Potters and Magic. When he stops freaking out, Harry decides to keep a journal detailing his future meddlings through the multiverse._

He couldn't die.

He, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Conquered, couldn't die.

Harry wanted to laugh at it all. So he did. There was no one left alive around him to hear, and to his own ears, it sounded hollow, incredulous, **bitter.**

But so _what_ if it, no, he sounded a tad bitter? After out-living all his friends, his loved ones, _their_ friends and loved ones, and yet cursed to remain in the form of a twenty-something-year-old with a two-hundred-_thousand_-something-years-old brain stuffed with memories that only taunted him with what he'd never get back, he bloody well _thought_ that he deserved, at least, to sound just like he felt. Bitter_bitter__bitter__**bitter.**_

Wizarding England had long ago ceased to exist, as it quietly melted into the rest Wizarding Europe, in a futile attempt to beat back the Muggles' invasion in XXXX. Those who surrendered peacefully did indeed outlive the rest of global Wizardingkind; for about five months more, that is, before they were killed and dissected and analyzed just like the brethren they'd cowardly betrayed.

'Cowardly' seemed to describe quite a lot of Wizardingkind, Harry mused. Cowardly, fickle, corrupt, stagnating, _doomed-to-die by either their own stupidity or karma_. Malfoys and Lestranges and Umbridges and Fudges, the lot of 'em. Even those he'd come to respect, like Bones, McGonagalls, Grangers, Weaseleys, even that manipulative old goat, Dumbledore, had perished as quickly, if not more so. All of them lacked _planning_, lacked _consequences_, lacked _thinking_.

Or maybe that was just his too-mature, too-weary, too-disillusioned mind talking. He was probably just like that when he was young. _When he was young…_ How _long_ had it been since he could truly call himself _young_? He'd lost count centuries ago, and never bothered to try particularly hard after that, believing he'd _earned_ this tiny piece of ignorance, of oh-so-precious _bliss_.

But now, sitting and having tea with Death on the war-torn, barren, silent Earth, and having been just told he couldn't die (as if he hadn't known that before; knives, poison, sleeping pills, guns, drowning, electrifying, burning, even the 'Avada-Kedavra' he'd feared so much before {nothing he feared now, no, nothing except being told he'd have to stay on that empty, empty Earth forever, left immortal with wailing memories chasing each other around in his brain until he was as insane as loony Luna, oh, poor, crazy, beautiful, _kind_ Luna-luna-luna…}, none of it had any effect. If he were less wise, or at least less not-stupid, he'd have chanced going to the scientists _ages _ago and asked them to kill him, any way possible, before they'd been wiped out in that radioactive wave three centuries ago), Harry quite rightly predicted that all of his accumulated pieces of ignorance would soon be critically examined and then coldly informed of their truths.

Not that he let his internal turmoil show, of course. This was fucking _Death, the Destroyer-of-Worlds_, who _knew_ what it'd do if it thought him weak?

(Well, a few people might know, but they were all dead; painfully, painfully dead.)

So instead he paused and looked at Death (who had chosen to appear to Harry as a vaguely humanoid-shaped figure made of emptiness; imagine a vaguely humanoid-shaped figure that was cut out of the very fabric of reality {copyrighted and sold by the Fates for the low, low price of fifteen civilizations!}, leaving behind just … nothingness, and you've got a pretty good idea of how Death looked like just then). "Excuse me? Did you just say that I can't die? And that since I'm the only Harry Potter in all the alternate universes who collected all three Hollows before defeating a Horcrux, that makes me a Master of Death and thus, well, a Death?" Harry asked politely, in that it-hasn't-quite-sunk-in-just-yet tone.

The vaguely humanoid-shaped figure made a bobbing motion that Harry took for a yes. A piece of paper (nice, thick, creamy, good-quality paper; being Death must pay well, he noted mentally) appeared in front of him, on the tea table. Harry peered over the rim of his tea cup (good Earl Grey was _so_ hard to find ever since civilization had crashed and burned, and though he'd long ago learned how to Transfigure edible food out of air, it never did taste as good as good ol' proper British tea) and read off the neat words printed in inky black swirls.

" 'As a Death, you are allowed to "jump" alternate universes and view them beforehand. Afterlife Incorporations, our "employer", is also open to you to use as an office building. Just don't use Office 666, that's off-limits. Oh, and play nice with the other representatives of death, okay? We all know how exasperating Ryuk and Grell are, but recruiting has been rather slow lately. Basically, your job is to go to worlds that have people needing to be killed but who have for some reason _not_ been killed, and to "maintain the balance" of the worlds you land in. You'll be given a list every century to complete, and if you finish early, which most do, feel free to relax and enjoy a vacation. As long as you complete your list, Afterlife Incorporations' CEOs won't care what you do. Oh, and you get to keep your current magic, amplified by however many years you've lived so far. So you're, what, 211000 of this universe's Earth years old? Eh, you're not a rookie, but just barely, so you don't have to worry about any really hard or complex cases. You've got quite a lot of vacation years ahead of you yet. Now, Spears, _that's_ a professional right there ...' " Harry nodded and smiled pleasantly once he finished reading.

"Please excuse me a minute," he asked of Death. Death made a shrugging motion. Harry then gently and carefully put down his teacup, before turning to his left and doing a prompt spit-take. After he had a few minutes to rearrange his entire opinion of life (and death/Death), he turned back to Death and picked up his teacup again, the very picture of calm. "Alright," he stated, taking a slow sip (and damn, it'd gotten all cold and ruined; plus, he needed more sugar) and leaning back slightly. "Where do I sign and when do I start?"

Death materialized a smile. It was not a nice smile, or a normal smile. In fact, it looked rather a lot like someone had tried to cram dozens of sharpened needles and knives into a banana's outline. Still, it was the thought that counted (right?). Another piece of paper appeared on the tea table.

" 'No need to sign, and you started 210982 years ago. You've got a lot of catching up to do. Here are your overdue lists. Luckily for you, we have the rookies to take care of overdue paperwork. Have fun!' " Harry read aloud. He looked up and cursed. That bastard had vanished, leaving him with 2110 lists of universes to visit. "Might as well get started so I can have a proper vacation again with proper tea…" he muttered. A simple silver key, about the length of his hand and as wide as his second finger, appeared on top of the note, with _another_ note.

" 'To view "jumping" options, please insert Key into the air and turn it counter-clockwise seven times. (Key is soul-bound to you, and will cost twenty-five reaped souls to replace.) A search engine most familiar to your birth-world will appear. Either select 'Universes on-List', 'Random Choice', or 'Browse by Popularity'. Descriptions of each universe will appear under each one. Recite, 'Jump to _', close your eyes, bend your knees (or similar joints/appendages) and then straighten up to "jump". Note: You will always be reborn into your original race if it is found on that world. Otherwise, you must keep in mind what race you would like to be reborn as during the ten-second grace period between "jumps" and landings.' -Unsincerely, the Creature Resources Department of Afterlife Incorporations. " Harry raised an eyebrow. "Good to know, I suppose. Now let's see, what's first on my List…"


End file.
